Brightly Burning (29 page)

“Which, sadly, is more than I can say for my parents,” he grumbled. “They haven't even
asked
about you. I don't think they're even expecting you to come with me, assuming they've thought about it at all. Come to think of it, they've never said anything about you—anyone would think that you were just a horse.”

:Well, that's not a problem,:
Kalira told him, tossing her head with merry disregard for what Lan's parents thought.
:We'll come here first, and have them load me up with my formal gear. While we're at it—make sure you ask for a formal Trainee uniform as well for the occasion; take care of it some time today. There isn't much call for them, but you can have one any time you ask for one if you give the Housekeeper enough time to have one altered to fit you. When we're both looking just slighly less than royal, we can go to your parents' house and make an impressive entrance. Then I'll come back here. When you're just about ready to leave, call me. I'll hear you, no worries. We'll make an impressive exit as well—I think my arrival all by myself should set some tongues wagging.:

“I should think!” What a wonderful plan! “It should make some eyes pop, too, when they see how beautiful you are!”

:You're flattering me again,:
she teased.
:Do keep it up!:

“How can it be flattery when it's true?” How he loved being with her! Everything seemed so much brighter and sharper when she was at his side; colors were richer, and nothing could ruin his mood. Didn't people often call their spouses their “better half?” Surely she was just that—his better self.

:I must say that I'm very grateful to young Tuck,:
she told him as she walked alongside him.
:Make sure and tell him for me, will you? I believe that this will be one of the better Midwinter holidays I've ever had.:

Just about then, the first members of his weapons class came trailing toward them over the snow. “Looks like we're about to hear the bell for the class change,” he observed, and mock-groaned. “I wish you had hands instead of hooves; when Odo gets through with us, I'm going to want a massage
so
badly!”

:Try a hot soak instead,:
she said playfully, blew into his hair, and frisked off, cantering back toward Companion's Field as the bell for class change rang in the distance. He watched her go, floating fluidly across the snow as if she had wings just like the Windrider.

Herald Odo emerged from the Salle, and smiled to see Lan already waiting there. “Walking off the fry-up, lad?” he asked genially. “Probably a good idea, given how much we all seem to eat on fry-days. Start your warm-up exercises anyway. Walking won't stretch out everything.”

Lan obeyed, toeing the line cut into the hard-packed snow and beginning the arm and upper torso stretches. The Training Field was just a rectangle in the snow, surrounded by a token fence that anyone could step over. When the snow melted, it would go back to its former shape of a rectangle of sand enclosed by timber holding the sand in, with the fence atop the timbers. Before long he was sweating enough that he didn't need his cloak anymore, and tossed it aside over one of the fence rails behind him. One by one, as the rest of the class of ten arrived, they ranged alongside him and started the same exercises, eventually discarding their own cloaks as well. Odo walked up and down their line and eyed them, correcting a stretch that wasn't quite right, chiding for not extending a stretch far enough.

When he judged that they were all sufficiently ready, he passed out the wooden swords and shields, paired them up, distributed the pairs evenly across the extent of the Training Field, and bade them go through their exercises.

Lan's opponent was an older boy who was just a little shorter than he, Trainee Jirkin. This was all very elementary stuff; each sword stroke meant a particular counter, and they took it turn and turn about, attack and parry. Odo wanted the moves to become second nature and completely instinctive; for now, until those moves were drummed into their blood and bone, they made their strokes to the rhythm of his clapped hands, speeding up as he increased the pace of his clapping. All the time, he strode among the five pairs of students, watching and correcting. Faster and faster the pace went; Lan was sweating furiously now. This was the fastest that Odo had ever taken them, and he felt the strain in every muscle.

:Relax. Don't fight yourself by thinking. Don't
think,
just listen, and do. Let do, love. Let go it all go and just become part of the sword and the shield—:

Don't think? How was he going to know what counter to use? What in the world did she mean?

Don't think and don't try—if he didn't trust Kalira so much—

But he did, he did; she had never put him wrong yet. Between swings, he told his muscles to loosen; he stopped trying to anticipate the next move—after all, they
were
working patterns, not actually fighting. Instead of thinking, he felt; getting into the way his muscles strained, the hollow
thock
of the wooden practice blade on the shield, the vibrations in his hands and arms as each stroke hit. He stopped worrying about when Herald Odo was going to increase the pace.

He began to feel as if he was in a waking dream; his arms and legs stopped hurting, and his body accomplished the moves all by itself. Was this what Herald Odo meant?

“All right!” Odo clapped his hands, breaking Lan's trance; the student pairs broke apart and dropped their weapons to their sides with groans and sighs of relief. Lan's arms and legs went back to hurting, and he panted with the rest of them, sweat dripping off his nose and landing on the snow, where it promptly froze.

“Go back to stretches, and cool down, Trainees,” Odo ordered with some satisfaction. “Then take five laps around the Training Field, at an easy jog. Don't race. Then come on inside and get a small drink.”

Lan put his mock weapons aside with the rest and jigged and shook out his cramps. His hands were the worst; it was always hard to get his fingers to let go of the hilt of his wooden sword. He wasn't the first to start running around the edge of the field, but he wasn't the last either.

When everyone had finished running, Herald Odo brought them into the Salle and passed out cups of lightly salted cider. It had an odd taste, but they all craved the salt and drank down their brew without complaint. There in the Salle, he had them practice hand-to-hand moves, looking into a mirror so they could see their own faults. Kicks, punches, blocks, and counters, over and over. Lan stared at his own reflection fiercely, alert for mistakes. He liked this better than the sword practice. There was something very satisfying about it, knowing that using this knowledge, he could probably get away from any bullies in the future.

This building, called the Salle, was one large open space, with an office and storage partitioned off at one end. This was where all of the practice weapons were kept and where Odo spent most of his day. It had a wooden floor, sanded smooth but not polished, wooden walls, and a mirror all along one side. Lan didn't want to think about how much that much mirrored glass had cost; several families could have eaten well for years, surely. But it was worth the expense; Trainees could see their mistakes with their own eyes and correct them immediately, or at least know to ask for help in getting positioned.

There were no windows on the walls; instead, south-facing clerestory windows near the peak of the roof let in generous amounts of light. No danger of getting the sun in your face in here—though Odo would, no doubt, introduce them to the joy of fighting when sun-dazzled in due course.

There was no fireplace in here, so it was pretty chilly, but better than outside. A certain amount of heat radiated from the one wall where the chimney from the fireplace in the office made a break in the expanse of wood paneling.

When they had practiced long enough, Odo had them cool down a second time, then worked with them individually. When it was Lan's turn, Odo showed him a new move, the way to break someone's hold on his wrist, and had him practice it until he got it right. “Now, combine that with what you know,” the Herald said, and grabbed for him.

Much to his own shock, Lan evaded the rush, broke Odo's grip, tumbled the Weaponsmaster to the floor, and spun out of reach.

“Now what do you do, boy?” Odo called from the floor.

“I run like fury!” Lan replied, making good his words and fleeing to the opposite end of the Salle, much to the amusement of the rest of his mates.

Odo got up off the floor and dusted himself off. “Don't laugh, Trainees; he's right. As long as you have an escape, take it. Run. Never stand and fight unless there's no other choice. What if you're carrying a vital message? What if it's bandits that ambushed you and you have to get the Guard? You're not in the business of being heroes, you're in the business of being Heralds, and that means staying alive to do your duty.”

He walked over to Lan and clapped him on the shoulder. “Lavan has the right of it. Incapacitate your enemy, and run like fury.” He winked broadly. “Of course, if I had been in his place, I'd have broken a few things to make certain my enemy
stayed
where I put him for a while, but you aren't up to that yet. When you are skilled enough to hold back your full force, then we'll practice those moves on each other.”

Lan took his place with the others as Odo called another Trainee out for a session. He hadn't expected to like weapons' training; he was a passable shot with a bow, but he'd expected that the bigger, older boys would be all over him. But there were no bigger boys in this class; there were several who were older, but none bigger. It wasn't all Heraldic Trainees, either; three of the boys were in Bardic Trainee rust, and three were in the pale green of Healer Trainees. The Trainees of
all
the Collegia took the basic weapons' courses. Bards were out in the wild parts of the world alone at least as often as Heralds, and not everyone believed in Bardic immunity. Healers weren't molested very often, but they might find themselves forced to defend a sick or injured patient. Some of the Trainees from the other two Collegia stuck with it through the entire weapons' curriculum, too. Not every Bard or Healer found skill with sword and bow incompatible with his or her other training.

When Odo was finished with the last of his students, he had them all get up and run around the Salle for another few laps, then allowed them to cool down and stretch themselves out one final time. They gathered up their cloaks just as the class-change bell rang outside.

“Off with you!” he said, flapping his hands at them, looking as if he were shooting geese. “Same time tomorrow, and try not to overeat!”

Lan trudged out into the snow with the rest of them, then like the rest of them, broke into a trot, drawn by the prospect of a hot bath to ease their aches and bruises before the final two classes of the day. If they hurried, it could just be managed; it was planned into their schedule.

I'm beginning to think that they think of everything,
it occurred to him, with a sense of wonder.

He laughed, and picked up his pace. The hot water was going to feel very, very good.

S
HIVERING with cold, but smiling nonetheless, Tuck and Lan waved good-bye to the last of their friends at the door of the Collegium. As soon as the last flick of Charkan's tail vanished past the gate, they rushed back inside chafing their half-frozen hands. The Collegium wasn't empty yet, but it would be soon, probably within the next day or two. Those whose parents or relatives were close to Haven were generally the last to leave. Those who had far to go were often granted a few days extra leave time for travel.

Tuck and Lan were going to be gone themselves within a candlemark; Lan had already packed up his clothing and personal gear last night. All that remained in the wardrobe were a couple of clean outfits for when he got back, and the resplendent Formal Grays.

Although he had never considered himself to be particularly interested in clothing, he opened the wardrobe to admire the Formal Grays one more time. When he'd asked Housekeeper Tori for a set of Formals, he hadn't expected anything near that nice; the only way they differed from Formal Whites was in the color—which, unlike the everyday Trainee Grays, was a deeper color, very nearly his favorite charcoal gray. This, so the housekeeper told him, was to make it very clear on formal occasions who the Trainees were. This was meant to keep them from getting involved in situations that they were not yet ready for; in an emergency, the paler color used in the everyday Grays might be mistaken for white. The housekeeper, on learning what he wanted the uniform for, had even brought him to the sewing room for several fittings. The Collegium seamstresses tailored it carefully to him and it fitted impeccably, to the point that his mother would probably be impressed by the figure he cut. It was not new, though it looked it; some other Trainee had needed it, and it had passed through the hands of two or three other Trainees before it came to Lan. Each had worn it once or twice, so for all intents and purposes it was as good as the day it had first been made. The housekeeper had a dozen sets of Formal Grays packed away in an aromatic chest to keep off the moths, and when he was finished with this set, she'd let out the alterations, clean it, and put it back in the chest for the next Trainee near his size who needed it.